Hey there, lady with whom I work.  You are thoroughly disgusting.  Just sayin’.

It’s not your incessant humming while in the stall next to me.  It’s not the endless fountain of noises that come out of your body.  It’s not the fact that you want to strike up a conversation between straining.

It’s not any of that.

It’s actually ALL of it combined, because these nuggets of joy take place on a daily basis.  How do I possibly go about finding a time when you are not in the restroom?  Apparently it is impossible, as you are always there.  I am not one to criticize the situation goin’ on in your bowels, as Lord knows I have my own set of issues – but I do not advertise them loudly whilst attempting to take care of business.  I wish you would kindly return the courtesy.

But no.  That’s too much to ask, evidently.  What you fail to comprehend is the simple fact that what I am asking is not completely unattainable for you.

1) Walk in the restroom.
2) Shut the fuck up.
3) Do your thing quietly and respect the flush.
4) Wash your hands, please.
5) Get the fuck out.

It’s that easy.

And yet, here you are today, barreling toward the restroom door WITH AN OPEN GRANOLA BAR in your hand.  You are chewing.  Which leads me to believe that you are taking it with y…oh, I’m just giving the fuck up.